


The Way to a Dragon's Heart

by Origamigryphon



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Biting, Don't think about things too hard, F/M, Female self insert - Freeform, Interspecies Sex, Just let it be ficcy, Male Dragon - Freeform, Mapmaking, Marking, Mentions of typical characters from the movies, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, More tags as I go, Not Proofread, Slow Burn, Typical Viking stuff, dracophilia, female oc - Freeform, note taking, scouting, un-betaed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22414201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origamigryphon/pseuds/Origamigryphon
Summary: You, a scout with the New Berkian colony, are tasked to travel to and document one of Chief Hiccup's islands that hasn't been visited in years, to check on the ecology of the area and see if there are supplies that they can use. Instead, you find a Deathgripper there that had been chained up cruelly and seemingly left to die.It's up to you to try to gain its trust, so that you can free it without it killing you on the spot.
Relationships: Deathgripper/OC, Dragon/OC (HTTYD)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Dragon Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW, I'm not done with Oddities Attract and that I haven't touched in six months. But when you have yet ANOTHER dream that you want to make into a fanfic, you strike while that iron is hot. I'll get back OA eventually, trust me! It just might not be as soon as you'd like.
> 
> Anyway, all warnings apply to this fic, too. It's all Mary Sue Self Insert smut goodness written for my own enjoyment, but sharing it with you because shit is meant to be shared. The Self Insert character's description and name is kept dubious on purpose to let you imagine her how you like. I also will come back and re-read time to time to fix things or add parts to make chapters longer. 
> 
> Don't think about things too deeply and just let the fic be ficcy (and let the dragons be fucky).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a scout, you are sent to a closeby island to document the land and the resources that could be found there. You find something else a little out of the ordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE HECKING NOTE 11 Oct 2020: I don't like how this story is evolving. I only wanted it to be some dragon fucking and it's turning into something with a plot. I will be editing the story over time so it's more linear, so if you see some changes, don't be alarmed.

As a viking, it wasn’t difficult to find adventure, even if it was on a relatively small island. They are an adaptive, flexible folk that can whip together the items needed to traverse the oceans and find other secluded or uninhabited islands that are a part of the larger archipelago where they lived.

Which is, naturally, where she was, salty sea air whipping her face as she guided her small vessel to the next neighboring island. It would have been so much easier if her Chief hadn’t decided that the dragons shouldn’t be their pets with benefits any longer, and let them go free to their own world which they belonged. She understood, of course she did, but man, did those flying reptiles make their lives so much easier, even accounting the vast number of fish and space needed to keep them satisfied. So instead, here she was in this tiny boat hardly big enough for her and her supplies, to check on the surrounding islands for provisions, since the Chief hardly had the time nor the wherewithal to do it himself anymore, especially so that he had his own kids to watch over now.

 _Though I certainly won’t miss cleaning up their shit,_ she thought to herself. The acrid smell was something she never thought she could forget. _They have the entire ocean to relieve themselves in, but noooo…_

She checked her compass and adjusted her sail. The weather was actually favorable - the wind wasn’t harsh and the air was warming with the new spring. There was no way in hell she’d be out here in the middle of winter, that would be guaranteed death. 

Pulling her boat into shore of the target island after several hours at sea, she hammered a stake into the stony ground and tied the small boat to it, taking the large pack of items needed to ensure her survival. She was only a scout; sent ahead to see if the island had anything they could use at all, before sending large amounts of people and boats for the supplies. She took out her logbook, intent on circling the island and noting anything of use.

\---

 _Oh look, another bird,_ she thinks boredly, after several hours of traversing the island, still writing in her notebook. This island was much like the others in the archipelago - plants, trees, shrubs, birds, maybe the odd ram. As she was walking, she had also been sketching the island in parts, so that if she were to take out the pages, she could put them together like a map once she was done. It was similar to what the Chief had done in his surveying days, but it had to be done at least every 5 years or so to update maps based on any ecological changes. There was even an instance where one of the islands he documented was completely destroyed due to its volcano erupting. In a few years, they could come back to see if the volcanic soil had revitalized the land.

She was so invested in her mapmaking, that she missed the outcropping of rock.

“OW, FOR THOR’S SAKE!” She cursed, dropping her notebook to nurse her now aching shin. She rubbed at the sore spot carefully, but seeing as there was no blood, she straightened herself up - to see herself right in front of a large cave mouth. 

_Oh, hello,_ she thinks to herself. She dropped her pack and dug around for her flamesword. The Chief of Berk was quick to have the blacksmiths make that lovely flaming sword - though they had to use a new material, now that there wasn’t a bunch of Monstrous Nightmares to get the kerosene gel from. _That was the coolest,_ she recalled fondly. Snotlout and Hookfang showing off their skill of lighting themselves on fire for the youngsters was always something they enjoyed doing. 

The rest of the island had been pretty peaceful, but she didn’t know if any predators had made their home this cave somehow - or even an angry herbivore - so she lit the sword, instead of just a regular torch, just in case something unkind was within the darkness.

The cave was dim, but thankfully not terribly deep. In the low light beyond her flame sword, she could make out that there wasn’t anything in here, except a few bats that hung from the ceiling, and a large, dark rock that sat at the very back of the cave. The walls glittered with mineral deposits that reflected the light of the flame. Pretty, but not useful.

She sighed, ambling toward the rock. She noted the cave and its location, and the fact that it had nothing except the dark rock -

That just shifted.

She stiffened, dropping her notebook and pointing the sword at the moving rock. Low growling and tapping talons reached her ears, and suddenly, that awful, acrid smell reached her beyond the stink of the kerosene of her sword, that she knew so well..

Her heart fluttered happily. It was a dragon! A dragon had somehow not made it to their world, and was holed up here by its lonesome! But why? She held out her free hand imploringly at it. “Hey there, friend! I am not going to hurt you. Whatcha doing out here by yourself? Did you get lost?” She approached it with the tried-and-true method of dragon taming passed down by the Chief of New Berk himself. She was only feet from it before its silhouette suddenly became clear, and her heart dropped along with her hand as her mind screamed:

_DEATHGRIPPER._

A muffled, rage-filled roar rang in her ears, completely overpowering her own shout of fear as the dragon lunged at her. The sword dropped from her hands and went out, enveloping them both in darkness. There was no running from a Deathgripper. She closed her eyes, sure she was dead where she stood; she hoped he would be at least quick about it.

The dragon was somehow abruptly stopped short just shy of her pallid face; she could feel the heat of its putrid breath. It snapped and snarled, thrashing ferociously, before choking on a gasp, and the sound of a half-ton of dragon hitting the floor echoed within the cave, with the rattle of numerous chains following it.

She stood in stunned silence in the darkness before realizing she was still alive, as the heaving gasps of the dragon at her feet reached her ears. Carefully, slowly, she crouched down to where she dropped her flamesword, groping in the darkness until she nearly burned herself on the still-hot metal of the blade. Grasping the hilt, she quickly turned it alight again, her trembling hand hovering it over the prone body of the dragon.

It was in a horrible state. It was chained in every conceivable way. Its pincers, wings, tail, and even its mouth were shackled closed. The shackle around its mouth acted more like a kind of muzzle, as it only allowed the mouth to open just enough for it to let its tongue through. A piece of metal fitted in front of it ensured that it could not spray its acid anywhere except down, where it could easily be avoided. They were then bolted behind it to the cave wall. There was clear evidence of the dragon trying to pry the bolts out of the wall; there were deep gouges in the stone around the bolts, and even on the metal itself.

The creature still growled weakly, but it was unable to move after its attempt to protect itself and scare her away. Now that her racing heart had calmed, it was clear to see why. Its red and black scales were dull and flaking, and it seemed incredibly bony, its ribs visible in the folds of its skin, its belly concave. There was a giant pile of old, acrid feces festering behind it. 

Circling around for a better look, she gasped in horror as she saw the innumerable scars that crisscrossed its body. They weren’t just the typical scars of arrows and swords, but jagged looking scars that looked like branches of lightning.

Her hand tightened on the hilt of the sword, knuckles white, mind racing. Just how long had it been here, to be on the brink of starvation? Who locked it up and tortured it in such a cruel way? Deathgrippers may be a more primal type of dragon, but that didn’t mean that it was any less important than any other dragon. Even the ones held under Grimmel’s control could be forgiven, for they were being controlled by their own venom.

Looking at its bindings closer, it was clear - the same collar that was seen on the Deathgrippers controlled by their adversary Grimmel the Grisly was still in place. 

However, the place where there would be the venom container was missing.

Thinking quickly, trying not to pace in front of the agitated dragon, she put together a scene where one of the Deathgrippers that had been defeated by Toothless was found floating in the sea, seriously injured but not dead, the venom container shattered in the onslaught of the Night Fury’s electric attack. They chained it here before it awoke, and without the tools needed to extract more venom, instead settled for waiting for it to slowly starve so that it would become weak enough to be able to come back with the proper tools harvest its venom to control it again. Now that Berk had released all of their dragons back to their homeworld, perhaps they thought they would now have the advantage with just one.

_Maybe they forgot that we were dragon killers long before we were dragon riders._

Mind made up, she desperately wanted to help free this dragon. She had plenty of tools to attempt to pry the shackles off - if only she could get it to trust her to do so. Earning the trust of a Deathgripper was no easy feat. The only time she’d heard of such a thing was in legends; the story of Thordis the Black Widow and her beautiful blue Deathgripper she named Sappheral is still one of her favorites.

She approached the wheezing dragon again, crouching down warily, hand out and eyes downcast; showing she did not mean harm. “Heyyy,” she intoned gently, encouragingly. “It’s ok. It’s ok. I want to help. You’re hurt so much. Let me help you.”

The dragon hissed, gathering up the last of its strength to lunge at her again, ignoring her, straining against its chains.

She jumped away, sucking her teeth in a “tsk” sound. “Well then,” she muttered. “I guess I have to think of a different plan.”

That plan came quicker than she thought, as she watched the starving dragon’s legs tremble with effort, and give way underneath it again. Its eyes rolled in its head and its tongue lolled out, panting and shaking - it was literally starving to death in front of her, and the burst of energy it used to try to get to her depleted what little it had left.

She couldn't just let this dragon die. Making a quick decision, she reached into her pack of provisions, and found a bag of small, dried fish. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to stave off the poor creature’s hunger until she could get something more substantial. She approached again cautiously, holding out the bag, waving at the open end with her hand, hoping the creature would get a whiff of the contents.

The dragon immediately eyed her as it caught the scent of the food, and then the bag. The smell coming from the bag was not its natural food, but at this point it did not care. It opened its mouth with what little space the muzzle afforded it.

Taking this as a sign that it would let her approach, she got as close as possible, and carefully upended the entire bag of dry fish into its open mouth. It snapped eagerly at the morsels as they fell in, its long, thick tongue working them easily down its throat.

She watched the dragon eat, and it seemed to settle down, but continued to eye her warily, growling. She knew that wasn’t going to be nearly enough, so she stood with a grunt, wandering over to a spot closer to the opening of the cave near the edge, dropping her backpack with a thump. Dumping out the contents, she starts to make camp.  
 _This is going to take a while; may as well get comfortable._


	2. Dragon Dirty Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you found a dragon that will kill you if you so much as look at it. What can you do to help it and gain its trust?

After backtracking to her boat to gather the rest of her supplies, she unloads it all- bedroll, blankets, cooking implements, firestarting tools, extra clothes - and summarily begins setting up camp, a ways away from the dragon, closer to the mouth of the cave, but still against the wall. Once she’s got everything set up to her liking, she heads out again, ax in hand, to gather firewood.

After bringing in her haul of firewood and stacking it neatly, she sat and had lunch herself, as she waited for the tiny amount of food she gave the dragon to wear off again. Unfortunately, this wasn’t before it dropped another load in the already nauseating pile of shit behind it. “Ugh, buddy, I am definitely going to have to take care of that.” She went out after eating lunch and gathered some good length sticks of wood, and tied some pine needles and dry grasses to it in a makeshift broom to prepare for the shit-scooping she would have to do. 

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait too long before the dragon collapsed again. It grunted and whined at her as she set to work. She tied a cloth over her mouth as she carefully maneuvered behind the exhausted dragon and began to push the pile of odorous refuse out from behind it with the broom she crafted. The dragon had no energy to do much more than grunt and groan in an offended manner, irritated that it could not see what was going on behind it.

She got most of it out, but there were still some old stubborn pieces that had dried to the cave floor, so she grabbed another bucket and filled it with seawater, dragging it back in to splash the remaining pieces in the hopes of rehydrating them enough to scrape them out.

_Ugh. And I had hoped my dragon-shit cleaning days were behind me._

When the area was mostly clean and the stench had lessened by several degrees, she set out once again for food for them both. Several hours and a netful of fish later, she hauls her catch in, dropping a smaller bagful of them next to her camp, while she drags the rest of the 20 or so fish to the dragon, which had started to growl again just as soon as she walked back into the cave. She had set up sconces from her camp area over to the dragon, able to work while the dragon had worked off what little energy it got from the snack earlier. Now that she had light, it was much easier to work with the dragon.

She set the offering in front of the Deathgripper, which it sniffed at, and immediately started to drool and snap at it. Considering that this particular species of dragons are cannibals, it was very good to see that it was willing to eat the fish, because there was no way she was going to be able to find dragon meat now.

And she really did not want to kill another dragon, even if it meant ending its suffering.

She took out one fish and held it up for the dragon to see, and it began to shuffle and snap insistently.

“Calm down,” she said, holding up one finger, “and I will give you the fish.”

It snarled ferociously, shaking its head and tugging on the chains. It was an intimidation tactic, she knew; she did nothing and waited. The dragon continued to roar and scream and pace as much as its chains would allow for quite a while. 

She simply watched and waited.

The dragon, finally tiring itself out, turned to see her reaction. She had not moved an inch.

Its belly was an aching cavern and reminded them so by also growling. Begrudgingly, heaving a last beleaguered grunting sigh, it sat and held its head at her hand level, mouth open as far as its muzzle will allow, and waited.

She also waited for a minute to see if it would get impatient. It did not. “Very good,” she praised it, and moved forward to slip the fish between the bars of its muzzle and into its waiting maw, and backed off again.

It eagerly gulped down the fish, not even bothering to chew it. It was not dragon meat, it tasted wholly different than the bloody red meat it was used to, but it was still meat. The dragon was ravenous for more, but it was not stupid. This tiny, frail human was its only chance of getting fed, and hopefully, becoming free. It understood that it would not get food until it was calm, and resumed waiting for the next fish.

This routine continued until the bag of fish was empty and the dragon was sighing comfortably, but she was not done yet.

Taking all of the waterskins she had on her to a small spring she had discovered upon her first go-round of the island, she filled all of them to the brim and brought them back to the dragon. She approached it again, once again the dragon growling lowly in its throat. She showed it the waterskin, who sniffed it, but cocked its head, unsure as to what it was.

She lifted her finger again in the “wait” motion from before, and it seemed to understand that it may be more food, so it sat with its mouth open once more.

She uncapped the waterskin and started to pour the water. Realizing what it was, the dragon drank eagerly until every drop was gone.

The dragon immediately flopped over as much as its chains would allow, belly bulging, belching audibly.

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

It hissed lowly at her in response.

"Yeah, whatever you say."

She turns away from the dragon, yawning, and goes to settle into her bedroll with her notebook. The dragon, after over a month of starving, was lulled to a state of wary contentment by the tiny scratching noises she made into some leaf-like things in her lap. Nonetheless, he kept a wary eye on her.


	3. Dragon Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue to watch over the dragon. You inadvertently discover what its sex is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the chapter doesn't give it away, there is a bit of a detailed description of a dragon's dick.

“So then my mom says, ‘why do you have to wear those godawful things? Don’t you have any respect for yourself?’ so I come back and say, ‘as if you didn’t wear something that YOUR parents didn’t approve of when you were growing up,’ and she gets this faraway look in her eyes as if she’s thinking back to her youth, and she BLUSHES, so you know good and well that she DID--”

The dragon groans in annoyance for the umpteenth time, tossing his head. Try as he might, the stupid human would NOT SHUT UP. It kept making the mouth sounds over and over when it wasn’t out doing whatever it did when it wasn’t in the cave with him. One of those things being getting him food. He HATED the fact that he’s having to depend on this HUMAN to practically feed him like his mother did as a hatchling. He only got any solace when it was gone, asleep, or doing whatever it was that made scratching noises with a stick, on what looked like a bunch of leaves. And the human got up at FIRST LIGHT, what sane creature does that?

His belly grumbled, but he ignored it. Maybe, if he kept the human away long enough, it would get bored of him and FINALLY leave him alone. He would rather starve than have to listen to its incessant mouth noise for another day.

\---

Days pass much the same way. The viking natters on about everything and nothing to the Deathgripper as she goes about her daily activities; cooking, cleaning, writing, drawing. She would leave soon after waking up to continue to survey the island. She would be gone for several hours, blissful silence to the Deathgripper in chains. She would come back and continue chatting as she did mundane things like wash clothes, mend them if they started to rip, cleaning and polishing her various small weapons and flame sword, keeping her stack of firewood replenished. The sunlight started to get stronger as the days went on, and the amount of time she spent outdoors started to give her a tan.

The Deathgripper wouldn’t let her approach until it was near starvation once again with no energy to move, and she would take that opportunity to clean up after it again, and feed it.

Unbeknownst to the Deathgripper, each night after it had curled up and faced away from her, she would move her bedroll just an inch or two closer to the dragon.

\---

One night, she discovered what the dragon’s sex is. While she was relaxing on her bedroll, back leaning against her pack and reading through her notes to make sure she didn’t miss anything, she suddenly heard a stream of running water. Confused, she looked outside the cave, but it wasn’t raining. An awful smell reached her nose, and she craned her head to see the Deathgripper turned around as much as it possibly could, hind leg lifted high, urinating as far away from itself as possible, its penis fully extended to get the most reach. It was a long, scary looking piece of equipment, much like the rest of it. Short spines appeared to line a girthy shaft on either side, and its head was wide and arrow-shaped.

She visibly recoiled at the sight, gagging. “I swear to Thor, you are the grossest, smelliest dragon that has ever lived. And that’s saying something. I had to clean up after a Hotburple once.”

The dragon only snorted, finishing his business, his shaft retreating back into his body.

Up until this moment she had been referring to the dragon as an ‘it’; figuring out the sex of dragons was difficult at best from outward appearances, as very few species had obvious sexual dimorphism, but seeing its penis on full display was as good a proof as any.

But now she had to go fetch a few bucketfuls of water to wash out that mess, because it REEKED.


	4. Dragon Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You become very ill.

Weeks later, the deathgripper shifted in his sleep. Something rankled at the back of his mind. Something felt...wrong. He tried to ignore it, he still wanted to sleep. But the _something_ was becoming incessant, so with a groan of displeasure, he shook himself awake, rattling the chains still connecting him to this blasted rock.

He looked around and squinted at the sunlight streaming into the cave. He had learned the relative time of day based on where the sunlight was in the mouth of the cave. It didn’t move into the cave much before retreating again.

It had already passed the point that meant late morning.

The human never let him sleep this late.

Now fully awake, he jumped to his feet, roaring in alarm, chains rattling. He looked to where the human normally lay - she had moved her bedroll much closer as the days and weeks had passed, and was now only just out of the way of his reach against the wall. She was still lying in the bedroll and tangled in the pelts she used as blankets. But instead of the constant stream of mouth-sounds, it breathed raggedly, its face an unusually pale color, shining with wetness of some kind. 

He cranes his neck over as much as he can, and flicks his tongue out in her direction, trying to get a read --

And immediately recoils with a snort.

She was ill. Dangerously so. Her temperature was several degrees over normal, and she smelled of infection.

He makes a happy grumble. Soon, if he’s lucky, the human will be dead and he will not have to bear its annoying presence any longer, and he will have something else to eat other than slimy old fish. He turns to go back to sleep.

At least he tries to. Her ragged, struggling breaths permeate the air, somehow louder than her normal mouth sounds. 

The wing closest to her slowly unfurls as much as it can, and starts to wave slowly, chains rattling as it sends a stream of air at the overheating human. After a few minutes, he craned his head around to look, and noticed she was no longer overheating. He made a satisfied sound.

Instead she started to shiver violently.

He roared in frustration.

Casting about for something to solve this new problem, he eyed the pelts that she used. Perhaps humans used the skin of other animals to help stay warmer since they could not grow fur or breathe fire of their own.

His tail, stinger fully extended, reeeeached as much as it could toward her pelts, chains straining and shackles digging painfully into his scales. He was still just out of reach. Groaning in effort and ignoring the pain, he managed to stretch just a few inches more to catch the end of one of the pelts, and flicked it ungainly on her.

The shivering stopped. He flops to the ground, relieved and pleased with himself.

Suddenly, heavy bootsteps are heard clomping into the cave. “OY, you scaly shithead! Are you dead yet?”

The deathgripper starts, immediately on the defensive with the new voices that just appeared. He attempts to move in front of the sick human, screaming and hissing, mantling his wings as much as he can.

“What the hell? How are you still able to stand? You shouldn’t have eaten in weeks!” Another voice says. As they approach, the dragon recognizes them now - men that once worked with the evil human that controlled him and his clan. One of the humans was taller than the other, the shorter one stockier. They both wore typical armor and pelts with horned helmets. 

The dragon is on full danger display, howling. 

“What in Thor’s name has him so riled up?” one of the new humans says to the other. “He should be on death’s door right now.”

“That makes it two mysteries,” the other replies. As they approach with their torches alight, they notice the camp set up, the sconces, and finally, the pile of blankets half covering someone.

They immediately whip out the crossbows at their hips, loading each with a bolt and aiming at the pile of blankets. 

“HEY! GET UP!”

No response.

“I SAID GET UP!”

Both men approach, crossbows at the ready, as the deathgripper screams and strains at them, just out of reach. The taller man shoves her harshly with his boot. The body was boneless. The pelt shifted with the movement, revealing her face.

The shorter man immediately recoils with a shout of horror, covering his nose and mouth. “Mate, she’s super sick! I’ve seen this sickness before; it’s usually fatal! No one knows how to treat it. My poor nan got this, and she was gone within days,” he says with a sniffle.

The taller man laughs, putting away his crossbow. “Well then, we’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?”

Startled, the dragon turns towards the sick human. He doesn’t know many human words, but he’s heard the word “fatal” often enough when referred to him, that he knows what it means. He freezes, mind racing, crouching close to the ground. 

Thinking that the dragon was finally weakened from starvation, the men set to unshackling the dragon with a set of keys. “Time to go,” one says, keeping one chain attached to the collar. “We’ve got big plans for you. Now that Berk is defenseless, even ONE dragon should be enough to overtake them.”

The dragon absently follows the tugs of the chains as his mind is in a whirl. He was finally going to be free. But he cranes his head back at the still, pale form of the human on the bedroll. He is slowly gaining distance from her as he is tugged along.

With a start, he realizes what is happening. Urgently, he turns and strains against the chain as the men shout and struggle to keep him in place. He roars at her, imploring. 

“QUICK, LOVIS! THE VENOM!!”

A new cartridge of venom is jammed into the hole in his collar, and a sharp sting is felt as the venom envelops his brain. He screams in fear and frustration, until all goes blank.

"Cripes," the taller man breathes in relief as the Deathgripper calms and stays still obediently. "It's a good thing those dead ones still had some juice left in 'em."


	5. Dragon Dichotomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell hath no fury like a dragon scorned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death, blood mention.

He can see clearly. Flying over the ocean, the wind and his strong wings keeping his form aloft, the ocean-floater he was ordered to follow a speck underneath him. His impeccable eyesight sees the two humans that collected him moving about on the floater. There was a surge of dark clouds in the east, sending him the sense of impending rain.

He feels as fit as ever, but does not know how or why; he was hungry for so long. But it didn't matter anymore. His mind was empty except for the all-encompassing need to obey the orders he was given. They repeat incessantly in his head.

_Follow. Land when humans get off ocean-floater. Wait next command._

He shakes his head. Something is wrong. He eyes the clouds that harbor the oncoming storm. Storms are not a worry for him. 

There is something. Something like an itch at the back of his brain. With every passing wingbeat, it gets louder and more insistent.

Something is wrong. 

_Something is wrong._

**SOMETHING IS WRONG.**

_No. nothing is wrong,_ A sickly presence in his mind affirms, oozing over his nerves like bitter honey. _Just obey. All will be well if you just obey._

He shakes his head, roaring to himself in frustration.

_Obey master. Obey master….master? Who is the master?_

_Do I trust them?_

His mind flashes images. A human face, tan from the sun, smiling, offering him fish.

A human talking to him, constantly, incessantly, annoyingly.

A human cleaning up his waste so that he doesn’t get sick.

Sick. His mind latches onto the word.

_Sick. Someone is sick._

_They are dying._

His mind snaps into focus.

_I DON’T WANT HER TO DIE._

Screaming, he curls upon himself, his hind claws hooking underneath the wood of the collar. He plummets as he roars, bent double and using every bit of his strength on it, claws pulling while he pulls his neck backward, at the same time fighting the insidious toxin that continues to pulse OBEY into his mind.

The ocean approaches fast, and the men in the boat have noticed the dragon’s strange freefall. They quickly scramble to ready their crossbows and aim them at the falling dragon.

The collar splinters, and with a final roar, his claws split the thick wood, and the collar falls away.

Time seems to slow as the Deathgripper rights himself in the air, but continues on his trajectory, towards the humans on the ocean-floater. He sees them. They are screaming, firing crossbow bolts at him, which he dodges as if they were simply shed scales on the wind.

He lands with a crash on the boat, wood splintering beneath him, tipping it almost vertically and tossing the men off of their feet toward him. Flexing his throat and opening the valve to his acid sac, he jets copious amounts of the searing fluid forth at the two men who locked him up, who chained him, who starved him, who DARED take him away from the dying human that had cared for him no matter what he did.

Their agonized screams as they were set aflame were satisfying, but it was not nearly as satisfying as the crunch of their bones and the sweet taste of their blood on his tongue.

\--

Panting, straining his wings to the breaking point, he flies as fast as he can back to the cave. He easily follows his own scent trail back; but the storm that he noticed in the east was almost upon him. He needed to beat it, or the rain would wash away his trail.

Finally, after what seems like hours, the island comes back into view. He angles downward toward it, gasping, wings trembling with exertion. He now uses gravity to help him go all the faster. He circles downward in this way until he reaches the cave mouth.

He is going so fast, he cannot brake enough before he crash lands on the cave floor, claws scraping and body tumbling on the rock, slamming hard into the back of the cave wall where he was once chained.

He pays the pain no mind as he roars for the human, head whipping back and forth in the cave, eyes adjusting to the low light.

He flicks out his tongue, sensing them, and whips his head to the right.

Lightning flashes in his vision just as he sees the human’s pale hand poking out from under the pelts. Her fingers were curled up, and very, very still.

He seems to stop breathing. Rushing over, his tongue flicks quickly over her form.

She is cold and unmoving.

A terrible, sinking feeling in his chest seems to suddenly weigh him down as he processes what he has found.

He’s too late.

Dragons don’t cry; they aren’t equipped with human features like tear ducts. But grief causes their throats to constrict, forcing out any sound as a wailing keen.

Enraged, sorrowful, he lowers his head over her and keens into the cave, the sound reverberating off of the cave walls and amplifying it, as the skies open up and rain begins to pelt the land outside.

His mind races as he breathes hard. He immediately wants to find every last one of the humans that allowed this to happen, melt them down and feast on their bones – but that won’t heal the growing hole in his heart that is trying to swallow him up.

Unnoticed, a small weight rests on his retracted tusk. He is so caught up in his sorrow that he doesn’t notice it, until its grip firms and shakes him.

Snapping out of those dark thoughts, he reels back, opening his eyes and looking down at the human, whose hand slips from the tusk to his beak with a weak slap.

“Shut up already, you flying sack of scales,” a voice, a beautiful voice, murmurs from under the pelts. “I just got to sleep.” Another hand emerged from the pile and pulls the pelt off of her face – flush and smiling.

Blinking, relief washes over him and flushes away his negative thoughts, as a joyful cry emerges from his throat unbidden. 

Like a nestmother, he immediately moves to cover the human’s small body with his own – carefully; he remembers how brittle the bones of the ones he just made a meal of were -- and mantles over her with wings outstretched. His pincers rest on either side of her body as he rubs his chin on her chest, warbling happily.

\---

She wasn’t completely conscious when the two goons arrived and took the dragon away. The boot to her side was enough to shake her awake to understand most of what was happening, but she was so ill, it was in her best interest to not react and keep pretending to be on death’s door. Not that she could have done anything else in her state. She only had to hope that he would escape. If he hadn’t, there would have been hell to pay. She would have torn up the archipelago to find him. 

But right now, she didn't have to worry about that. She had half a ton of happy, purring dragon covering her body protectively, and a surge of love pounded in her heart.

Her arms come up to wrap around her dragon’s head, returning his embrace, his scales warm, smooth, and vibrant. The name she had been struggling to find for him solidified itself in her mind.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Wrathburn.”


	6. Dragon Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your new dragon head back to New Berk.

_Now this is more like it,_ she thought as she was once again on dragonback, wind in her hair and powerful wingbeats moving underneath her, propelling them forward effortlessly. There was nothing like the sensation of flight. The absolute _freedom_ she felt as the powerful dragon she rode took control of the very sky itself.

She would have loved to do some sky tricks, such as rolling and tumbling, but they were currently burdened with all of her belongings that had to be haphazardly tied to Wrathburn’s back, while he actually held the small ship she used to get to their island in his powerful pincers. Her “saddle,” so to speak, was just her bedroll tied to his back between one of his large scale plates, as she clung carefully to the scale plate in front of her, acting as a kind of barrier and lap bar to keep her from flying off.

“Alright, lizardbreath, I need to go over some ground rules,” she starts as they make their way quickly back to New Berk. “One, let me do the talking. They don’t like your particular species because the rest of you were under Grimmel’s control before, but once they see me, they’ll reconsider. That means you have to be NICE. No biting, eating, or spraying acid at people, or any sheep for that matter. Let me know if you’re hungry. Which brings me to number two,” she continued, as Wrathburn grumbled and mouthed along with her mockingly. “The alpha dragon ordered all of the other dragons away to their world in the middle of the ocean somewhere. Which means that there are literally no dragons around for you to eat. Even if there WERE any, I would have asked you not to eat any that live on the island itself. I’m sure you could find the dragons’ world yourself, but it might be hard for you to pick off some dragons without any of the others noticing and attacking you for it. So it’s either fish, or you starve. Which I’m sure you’re used to by now.”

He hissed in annoyance.

“Atta boy.”

\---

Two lookouts were positioned high in a large open-air hut on top of a tall tower at one of the edges of New Berk, overlooking the vertical docks. They were deep in thought, facing each other, a chess set between them on a small, low table. One of them, a large burly woman, reached over and plucked a piece and moved it confidently, with a satisfied huff of breath.

The other, a very squat person, growled in annoyance at the move, arms crossed and glaring at the board, scanning for any move they could make. Their concentration was broken as they noticed movement at the corner of their vision, and looked up, seeing a speck in the sky that was slowly growing larger. Squinting, they grabbed a telescope that sat next to them and adjusted it to peer at the spot.

They immediately leapt to their feet, shouting, “DRAGON!”

“Oh, come now, Scab,” the woman intoned. “Don’t try to trick me again so you can move the pieces around while I’m not looking.”

“I’m for real this time, Sassafrass!” They hopped from foot to foot. “Honestly and truly!”

Sassafrass sighed, rolling her eyes. “If you’re fibbing again, I’m going to wring your neck,” she griped as she also picked up a telescope and pointed it in the same direction – only to also quickly jump to her feet as she confirmed Scab’s sighting. “By Thor’s Hammer, you’re right,” she gasped. “We need to alert the Chief, quickly!”

Scab and Sasafrass quickly put their telescopes away, and grabbed a pair of unlit torches. They quickly ran out from the hut on one of the many narrow bridges to one of several different much larger torches that resembled a large saucer. Quickly striking the torches they held, they used it to light the wood and kindling inside one particular one, with a special powder created by the Chief made them burn with bright blue flame.

\---

“Now please don’t let it happen again,” Chief Hiccup sighed as he placed the sheep in its owner’s arms. The owner’s neighbor had held the sheep hostage until the owner could replace a special plant that their sheep had eaten. He had to trek quite a ways inland before he found that particular plant again in exchange for the sheep.

He really wished he had more important business to tend to, but over the years, New Berk had become so self-sufficient with his new technologies, that he only had to solve some petty squabbles from time to time. _Which is much better than, oh, saving the day from utter destruction over and over again._

A particular black dragon's smiling face came unbidden to his mind, and he smiled wistfully. _I miss you, bud._

A light caught his eye, breaking his nostalgic reverie, and he turned to see that one of the watch-torches had been lit, its bright blue flame flickering for all to see.

_But the blue torch means a dragon sighting. There haven’t been dragons back here in ages!_

Heart thudding, he quickly started to run toward the lookout post positioned next to the blue flames, and all manner of Vikings knew to get out of the way if the Chief was running somewhere. Gasping, he entered a platform, pulling a lever. The gears and pulley system ground to a start and lifted him up to the top of the watch hut.

“Scab, Sassafrass,” he greeted them as the platform settled. “What’s going on?”

“Take a look for yourself,” said Scab, handing one of the telescopes to him, and pointing in a direction to their left.

He quickly took it and adjusted it, until a dragon clearly came into view. He immediately recognized the dragons’ species.

“Deathgripper,” he said lowly. “But it’s only one. What is it doing here?”

“Wait!” Sassafrass said, looking at it again. “There’s someone on its back!”

Sure enough, as the dragon came closer to view, a diminutive person was seen waving their arms frantically.

"But that's -!" She had been sent to survey islands a month ago, what in the world happened?

"I'm going to love to hear this story," Chief Hiccup drawled.

\---

After Wrathburn deposited the ship to the water below, they flew up to the edge of the island where she saw her Chief waiting a little ways in, with a small crowd of Berkians. Heart hammering nervously, she guided her dragon down. Sliding off his back easily, she walked around to his head, cradling his jaw under her hands, lifting it up to place a small peck on the upper curve of his beak. "Stay here, okay? Don't move. I need him to trust you." Wrathburn grumbled, but returned the gesture, rubbing the side of his head into her shoulder. He settled down on the ground, eyeing the man she approached warily. He may have been affected by venom at the time, but he definitely recognized him now that he saw him.

The small bit of affection was to show Chief Hiccup that the Deathgripper wasn't dangerous, and hoped that he saw it. When she started heading in his direction, she did see a contemplative look on his face, so she hoped that it worked to plant that first small seed of trust.

"Chief Hiccup!" She greeted as she approached. "It's been a long time. Have you been well?"

"Don't play coy with me," was his immediate response, ignoring her question. "I am glad to see you back safe and unharmed. But you bringing back a dragon, and a Deathgripper of all dragons, doesn't sit well with me. All dragons should be in the Hidden World now. I'm sure you know of their nature? You were there when Grimmel invaded."

"Aye, I was, Chief," she replied in exasperation. "I'm not stupid, and I know what you're thinking. But this Deathgripper isn't in the hands of that guy anymore, and isn't under the effects of his venom. I found him chained in a cave in one of the islands I went to survey. He had been chained up and starved by what remains of Grimmel's henchmen. I managed to earn his trust, but before I could get him out, a couple of them returned for him, but at that time I was really sick, so I managed to pretend I was dying, so they left me alone, but took the dragon. He broke free, and came back for me." She looked back at her dragon fondly. "His name is Wrathburn. He's probably the only dragon left that's not in the Hidden World, and being a cannibalistic dragon, I doubt they would welcome him there. He would have starved if I didn't have him learn to like eating fish."

This made Hiccup's eyes widen, and the gathered crowd started to murmur. 

"If what you say is true," he said, "That would be very good news. Deathgrippers are well known for their....dietary needs, and if he were to go to the Hidden World, the residents would not be kind to him once he wanted dinner. Whether or not they would kill him because he's a threat to them is up in the air." 

She looked back at him, hope in her eyes.

Hiccup sighed. "Don't look at me that way. You obviously care about that dragon, as he cares about you. He can stay, only as long as he leaves everyone alone and causes no trouble."

"Done and done," she replied quickly. She turned toward her dragon, shouting, "Hey, Wrathburn, c'mere!!" 

The dragon's eyes snapped over to her as her call. He puffed himself up and walked over, trying to make himself look as intimidating as possible. She held out her hands, and the giant dragon plopped his chin into them. "Look alive bud, I want you to meet someone." Snorting, he looked down his nose at the bearded man, who held out his hand. He hissed. 

"Hey scaleface, what did we just talk about?"

Growling and grumbling, he approached the Chief of New Berk and pressed his nose into his outstretched palm with uncaring roughness. He'd tolerate the rest of these humans, but he growled low in his throat, a warning that no one was to touch him but her, and no one will come near her except him. 

Hiccup smiled. He'd seen that familiar tough-guy act before. He stroked the nose offered to him once before letting go. He'd missed the scaled touch of a dragon more than he thought.

"Easy bud, I get your message loud and clear."


	7. Dragon Diatribe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see Fishlegs to drop off your documents, and address the Berkians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fishlegs was surprisingly fun to write!

After reuniting with her parents and stowing away her supplies, she went to take her logbook to Fishlegs, who had the duty of compiling the surveyor’s work and delegating tasks to his apprentices, such as transcribing and mapmaking. Wrathburn was in tow, not because he had to be. But this was HIS rider and he hissed at anyone that dared get too close to them. To his credit, the Berkians were overjoyed to see a dragon, just not this particular type of dragon, as the memory of Grimmel was still very fresh on their minds, though it had been years past. The reactions were interesting, to say the least, as they fought with which emotion they felt when they saw him.

She had a spring in her step, though. Her fellow Berkians made some very interesting faces as their internal thoughts warred with one another. She stood out now; only she on this whole island had a dragon again, and it made her ego swell up a bit. She’d been ignored by everyone for so long now, it was nice to have eyes on her. 

_I bet you notice me now, jerks._

She entered Fishlegs’ workspace, the doors - made when dragons were still living there - large enough for Wrathburn to pass through. The young apprentices bustling about immediately noticed him and shrieked, dropping papers as they fled. Fishlegs was facing away, bent over some documents, but looked up and turned around at the sudden commotion.

“Oops. I guess I should have warned you, Fishlegs. Sorry.”

But Fishlegs looked past her at Wrathburn, and he emitted a squeal of joy at seeing a dragon again, no matter what species it was. He moved with a speed that was surprising for someone with his very large physique, the dragon actually stepping back in trepidation of the hulking man barreling toward him.

“Oh my gosh, a real Deathgripper! Did you know they are the only documented species of dragons that are cannibals? They have retractable tusks that were designed to lift another dragons’ plate armor or scales, while their strong pincers hold the hapless dragon in place for it to deliver paralyzing venom from the sting in its tail! Get stung twice, and it’s a death sentence! A third time, and your body will have so much venom, anyone else that even tries to get near it will be paralyzed! Not only that, but they can spew acid that can melt anything, and it reacts with the oxygen in the air to light it on fire! As they mature, they grow an extra set of tusks that emerge from the sides of their jaws, and the crest of their head gets much bigger as a sign of dominance!”

Wrathburn shrank into himself as Fishlegs’s hands touched all over him while he spilled facts from his mouth like water. He started to growl dangerously, stinger emerging, tail vibrating.

“Whoa whoa whoa, bud, easy.” She touched his head in the small gap between the eyes, and he closed them with a long snort, stinger retracting. 

“Lay off, Fishlegs, will you? You’re crowding him. I don’t want to see the effects of his venom firsthand.”

Realization finally dawned on the large man, and he pulled away from the irritated dragon to look at her with awe. “Where did you find him?” _Of course he would know his sex at a glance,_ she thought. “How did you manage to befriend a Deathgripper, of all dragons?” 

“I thought you’d never ask. It’s a long story, and I have it all written here, day by day, along with the survey of the island, map sketches, and the list of supplies and resources I found.” She pulled the thick logbook out of her side pouch, handing it over to Fishlegs, who took it almost reverently. New information to be learned made his eyes gleam in anticipation. “I’ll have to come by later to fill you in on the last days, though. I got extremely sick and I couldn’t do anything.”

“It’s a date,” Fishlegs said eagerly.

Wrathburn bristled.

“Just grab me whenever you’re done sorting through what I’ve already given you.” She looked around to see fearful faces peeking out from behind the doors scattered across the large workroom. She waved sheepishly at them. “Sorry for scaring you guys. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” She grabbed one of Wrathburn’s tusks and wiggled his head a bit to show them how harmless he was. In return, his long tongue slid out to lick at the grabbing hand.

“Ugh, thanks,” she groused, wiping her now slimy hand on her clothes.

He huffed a breath in amusement. He then glared at Fishlegs pointedly. 

_MINE._

\---

“And that’s what happened,” she said to the gathered people in the great hall. A meeting had been called so that she could recount what had happened while she was supposed to be surveying and mapmaking an unpopulated island. Murmurs and side discussions met her ears as they talked about what they just heard.

“I have no reason not to believe what she is saying, especially with the proof in front of us.” Chief Hiccup said to the congregation, his wife Astrid standing beside him, holding their toddler, rocking him gently as he snoozed through the rabble. The crowd quieted as he began to speak. “But as I discussed with her before this, I have agreed to let the dragon stay here, as long as he hurts no one and nothing.” 

Said dragon was sitting imposingly behind his rider, his head well above hers as he sat upright and glared at the congregation.

“So why can’t she send her dragon to the Hidden World with the rest of them?” A voice called out.

Murmurs of agreement. Wrathburn’s eyes burned into the naysayer, growling. She reached up and touched him placatingly.

“We discussed that as well,” Hiccup said, his voice calming as they quieted. “As you may or may not know, Wrathburn’s species are cannibals, so they eat other dragons. Him going to the Hidden World is a danger, not just to the other dragons living there, but himself as well. Thankfully, his rider was successful in getting him to eat fish, so you and your sheep are safe.” 

There were some appreciative nods and thankful glances her way. She blushed. Wrathburn hissed in warning.

“So now, because we have a dragon again, that paints a target on our island. I am ordering an increase production of weapons, more people on watch during shifts, and battle training. Not that I’m saying we’re getting soft, but we could use some refreshers.” 

Some of Berkians grumbled in agreement, some touching their expanded waists regretfully. 

“If anyone wants this dragon - and I have no double they will come for him eventually - it is better for it to be on our own turf. And we will see them long before they can set foot here,” he finished strongly, with a thump of his fist on the table. That brought cheers from the crowd, reinvigorated from the bad news with the confidence that they would be able to face any threat. Astrid placed her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him proudly.

Looking up at Wrathburn, she held onto his tusks as he easily lifted her and carried her out the door as the other Berkians mingled and chatted. "I hope you appreciate the lengths we're going through for you," she said as she lifted herself to lay across the tusks, their length extending out for her. Wrathburn warbled, shaking his head a bit jostle her. 

"Damn right you are."


	8. Dragon Diction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to see Fishlegs as promised for the rest of your story, and then you and your dragon go flying.
> 
> He notices something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild NSFW in this chapter.

“Ok, so, I got really sick, right? I was burning up and freezing at intervals. Could barely breathe, couldn’t move for all the aches, head felt like it was going to explode and my nose kept leaking.”

She was reclining against Wrathburn’s belly, as he curled around her protectively and dozed. She stroked his nearby pincer idly, feeling the hard chitinous texture. Fishlegs sat at his desk and scribbled furiously. “That sounds like an acute case of Ruckamuck,” he said to himself thoughtfully. “Go on,” he pressed.

“I’m in and out of it. I hear voices yelling from the edges of my consciousness. Suddenly I feel a boot shoved in my side, and realize I’m not alone anymore, and they aren’t friendly. I don’t respond to them at all, and just pretend to be boneless and dying, which wasn’t too far from the truth, anyway. It worked, and they recoiled at the sight of me, and I was able to peek at them. One tall guy, one just a bit shorter but stockier. The first blond, the other black haired. They looked like typical Vikings, though I did see a bit of armor with Grimmel’s old insignia. They got Wrathburn and said that they would have a use for him, since Berk no longer had dragons to protect them – us.” She squeezed the pincer under her hands in recollection. “Wrathburn was gone for a long time. After they left, I managed to grab some medicinal herbs I had gathered from my pack, and boiled them. I logged them in the book; they worked a treat.”

She paused for a moment, giving Fishlegs a chance to catch up with his writing. “I waited for a long time, feeling miserable, while also sick with worry. There was nothing I could do in my state. I only had to have hope that Wrathburn would be able to escape.” Said dragon rumbled, shifting so that he could place his head in her lap. Smiling, she began to scratch. “Time had no meaning. I was in such a fog I couldn’t think straight, my mind going in circles with dread. I eventually passed out from exhaustion, like I was dead to the world. Which is when Wrathburn finally made it back,” she said, a bit of emotion catching her voice. “I think he may have thought I was dead. I was awoken to this gut-wrenching sound he made. I’d never heard a dragon make that noise before. It almost sounded like the wail of someone at their loved one’s funeral pyre. It made my heart break to hear it.” She looked down at Wrathburn, a happy puddle in her lap. It amazed her that this dragon that was nothing but spikes, venom and acid could be so gentle, and very clearly cared about her very much. He never left her alone. He even forced his way into her bedroom, which was very much too small for him.

She would have to do something about that.

She bent forward in order to press her forehead to the top of Wrathburn’s head, sniffling. The dragon emitted a cooing warble in response.

Fishlegs noticed the moment they were having, but said nothing. He’d had similar moments with his beloved Gronckle, Meatlug. Seeing them this way made his heart heavy with hurt and envy. He missed her so much. At the same time, he was happy for their bond. It was a complicated emotion.

“Did anything else happen after that?” he asked softly, after she had composed herself.

“He mantled over me like a protective mother,” she recalled with a laugh, wiping her face, extremely thankful that Fishlegs let them have their moment. “He seemed very happy. But after that, I stayed long enough to rest and get completely over the sickness – what did you call it, Ruckamuck? -- and then we packed up my stuff and left.”

Fishlegs finished his scribbling and snapped his book shut. He whistled for an apprentice; a small child maybe ten years old came trotting out. “Yes, Mr. Fishlegs?”

“Thorn, please take this and duplicate it in ink, directly after the section from our guests’ logbook,” he requested, handing over the book. “Let me know if you’re having trouble deciphering my rune-scratch. Thank you.”

“Yes, Mr. Fishlegs!” the child took the book eagerly and ran with it to the next room.

He smiled fondly after them. “They’re always so eager,” he chuckled, standing up and brushing charcoal dust from his hands and front. “Thanks for the documentation! I’ll let you know if I need anything else,” he chirped, but she noticed that it sounded kind of forced, so she took it as the dismissal he probably intended it to be. 

“Anytime, Fishlegs.” she used the edge of the brand new saddle she had made for him as leverage to stand, and he stood immediately after, wedging himself between her arm and body as they left. They emerged into the brightness outside, the sun still high in the sky, and Vikings bustling every which way on their daily routines.

She felt bad for making Fishlegs uncomfortable. He was definitely feeling a certain kind of way, but if it happened after she and Wrathburn had their moment, she could only guess that he was morose that he didn’t have the dragon that shared that one-of-a-kind bond with him anymore.

Now that she is experiencing it for the first time, looking down at her dragon’s beaked face, she can empathize; this was something she wouldn’t trade for the world.

All of her responsibilities taken care of, and now with a blissful week of rest that was afforded all scouts upon returning from their assignments, she hopped on Wrathburn’s back, the new saddle cushioning her from his hard scale plates, and grabbed her helmet from the side and slid it on. She’d waited too long for this.

“Come on, Wrathburn. Let’s go flying.”

\--

The island of New Berk disappeared into the distance as she sat bent over her dragon’s back, clutching to the bars on the saddle, as his powerful wings beat and displaced the air and sent them higher and higher. The wind rushed against her, her helmet and goggles keeping her hair from flying and eyes from stinging from the speed of their flight. It was always a rush to feel this, and was so glad to experience it again. The dragons she rode in the past were simply friendly enough to allow her to do so, but she never connected to one the way she had with Wrathburn, and that just made the experience one hundred times better.

“Alright buddy, show me what you got!!”

She hooted and yelled with joy as Wrathburn roared and immediately began to tumble in a downward spiral, gaining momentum, before arcing back upward like a shot. He flew in a sideways loop, before doing the same thing facing the other direction. His tongue hung out like a happy dogs' as he took her for the ride of her life.

 _FUN. PLAY,_ Wrathburn enthused with a roar, gleeful that his Trustfriend was enjoying herself just as much as he was. She was like a dragon in human skin; stubborn, caring, and dangerous when necessary, not afraid to stand up to friends if they’re wrong.

 _Especially_ if they’re wrong. They had only just met in that cave and she immediately called him a friend. She saved him from starvation. Although he saved himself in the end, he knew that if he had just warmed up to her sooner, she would have helped him escape and that never would have happened.

He owes a lot to her. He made a promise to himself not to leave her side.

After their tumble in the sky, she leaned over the saddle, hugging around his sinuous neck as his scale plates laid flat to allow it. She sighed contentedly, and Wrathburn returned the sentiment with a warble.

She suddenly felt a pulse, low in her belly, and she shifted. _You stop that right now._ She did NOT want to think that flying like that made her excited in...THAT way. 

The shift in her attitude was not lost on him. He flicked his tongue out and assessed her scent. His pupils grew wide when he realized that his flying had aroused her. Dragons often performed acrobatics to impress their partners, to show them that they were fit and strong enough to defend them. Perhaps, if he played his cards right...

Wrathburn tucked in his wings a bit, falling into a shallow dive. He then righted himself a moment after, the force of the action pressing her down into the saddle, focused primarily on where she sat with her legs straddling him, the undulating motion sliding her back and forth across the stiff leather.

The rider hissed in a shallow breath, whatever game he was playing was not helping her current predicament. "Hey, scaleface, stop that," she grunted, attempting to stand up a bit in the stirrups so that she wouldn't inadvertently be rubbed against his saddle.

The dragon grunted, ignoring her, and instead diving a bit deeper this time, enough that she couldn't hold herself up from the pressure of the gravity of his undulating movements. She let out an inadvertent moan as her nethers contacted the leather again, her legs too shaky now to hold herself up anymore as he continued playing his game.

 _Is he doing this on purpose? He can't know I was -_ her mind raced, as his incessant movements were now too hard to ignore. She let go of her inhibitions and started rubbing herself against the saddle eagerly. He's just a dragon, he wouldn't know what she was doing. What harm could it do?

Wrathburn trilled in glee as she finally succumbed to his movements. Above him, his rider had stopped rubbing herself against the hard leather, and had instead pressed an eager hand into her pants, stroking her aching clit to completion, grunting and letting out a long low moan, trembling. Wrathburn leveled out his flight, tilting his head up and glancing back at her questioningly.

"I-it's okay, buddy, I'm fine," she said shakily, taking her hand out of her pants quickly. Her mind reeled as she came down from her orgasm. _I can't believe I just got off on dragonback,_ she thought guiltily, _but damn did it feel nice._

Wrathburn crooned happily. He showed her that he can make her feel good. He turned lazily as they made their way back to New Berk.


	9. Dragon Dicking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon and rider go on a picnic. Then they have dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the fun begins~

Wrathburn’s foul breath was the first thing she awoke to that morning, coughing and shoving the scaly beakface away. “Ugh, fine, I’m awake, I’m awake. Geez, your breath smells like death.”

The dragon warbled in amusement, waiting for her to grab onto his tusks so he could drag her out of bed. This was her last day of shore leave before she had to prepare to go scouting again, and they wanted to make the best of it.

After washing up and a quick breakfast for the both of them, she packed a lunch, and they were off.

“...And then there was the time that Hiccup was a scrawny little preteen - yeah, THAT Hiccup - and he couldn’t kill a dragon for the life of him. We were still at war with the dragons then, he and I were about the same age, but I was too busy staying the hell out of the way, I know when I’m not useful to have around, and he thinks he can build a contraption that would capture dragons for him, we all thought he was crazy…”

They climbed up toward the very top of the island closest to Berk, where she had discovered before was a gorgeous view of the island and its colorful buildings and constant bustle of the people who looked like ants in the distance. She heaved a sigh as they reached the somewhat flat top, taking the picnic bundle from Wrathburn’s saddle and starting to set out the blanket and food.

“But wouldn’t you know it, his machine really did work. Raised a hell of a stink in the community when he was found out, though - his dad locked up the Night Fury that he befriended and used it to find the dragon’s nest. Little did they know the kind of creature that lived there. But the rest of the dragon-trained kids took the very dragons they fought against and became allies against it. Berk was a land of peace and dragons since then,” she finished, opening the barrel of fish for Wrathburn, as she bit into a roast chicken quarter.

Wrathburn attacked the pile of fish, gulping them down with seeming eagerness. Perhaps he had gotten used to his new diet, she mused, chewing thoughtfully.

After the remains had been put away and the sun was past its zenith, they sat in companionable silence for a while. Wrathburn was curled loosely around her, his head in her lap as she scratched him dutifully, the beast a gurgling puddle of happy dragon.

“Now that I think about it,” she began after a long while, and Wrathburn’s eyes lazily opened to glance her way. “It’s all thanks to Hiccup that we’re even friends now. He taught us that killing dragons was wrong, showed us how to understand them, work together...we’d never be where we are now. I can’t imagine what things would be like if they were different.”

Wrathburn crooned low in his throat, as she lifted his head and planted a kiss on the upper curve of his beak, between his nostrils.

Attempting to reciprocate, the dragon returned the gesture with a lick of his tongue across her lips.

The action sent a jolt down her spine. He’d not done that before, and something primal in her reacted to it, her mouth instinctively chasing after his tongue. She lifted her hands, cupping the corners of his jaw to keep him in place as her tongue pressed against his, the texture of it smooth and the saliva thick and acidic like citrus.

Her eyes snapped open, and she all but threw herself away from the dragon, whose eyes had gone half-lidded, obviously enjoying the sensation. He crooned after her, low in his throat, as his scales stood out, tail quivering over his back. As much as she knew about dragons, there was little she knew about Deathgrippers - and even in the midst of her panic, she wouldn’t know that what she was looking at was one having chosen a mate.

She held up her hands and started babbling, scooting away from him. “I’m so, sorry buddy, I didn’t mean to - I mean, I wanted to, but I shouldn’t - it’s wrong, I could have taken advantage of you, I’m so sorry -”

Wrathburn wasn’t paying attention to her mouth sounds, crawling lowly over to her until he mantled over her, pressing her back into the ground. His tongue extended out again, pressing itself against her chattering mouth. That seemed to shut her up, as he was reciprocating what she was just doing, which meant it wasn’t unwelcome. She froze for a moment, caught up in conflicting arguments in her head. The tongue worming against her lips finally jolted her back to reality, and she realized that this was something he wanted, too. Obligingly, she opened her mouth wide, pressing her tongue against his eagerly as the thick tip snaked inside.

She moaned around his tongue as the half-ton dragon above her rumbled. This wasn’t something that dragons typically did, but it wasn’t uncommon. The jagged teeth in their maws just meant that they had to be careful, lest they bite each other.

Their tongue-play lasted quite a while, until she finally had to pull away for breath. A long strand of their saliva stretched between them, Wrathburn licking his beak free of the thin trail, looking down at his rider for a sign for their next move. She panted, head back, mind in a whirl. She didn’t think anyone had carnal relations with their dragons - most of them too big, or too small, to have any real kind of “connection.” But the one currently above her wasn’t all that big, compared - they were built low to the ground, and she stood at least as tall as the scales at his shoulders. She’d also seen his dick before, back at the cave - it was quite intimidating, but maybe with a little work -

She was so caught up in thinking about the mechanics of their possible union, that Wrathburn was getting impatient. He lowered his head and began to sniff at her body, taking matters into his own claws. He didn’t know much about humans either, but that didn’t mean they weren’t all built similarly - and his nose led him to his target, bumping his beak roughly between her splayed legs. Yelping, torn from her thoughts, she sat up quickly and looked down just as the dragon’s tongue made another appearance, this time licking wetly at the apex of her legs, where her arousal smelled strongest.

The shock of his hard beak, and then the sudden pressure from his tongue made her shiver and arch, muted though it was through her pants. The dragon continued to lick at the fabric, much to her delight, until he started to grow annoyed by the fabric keeping him from his goal, hooking his beak into the fabric and attempting to pull it off. She hissed out as the sharp beak poked into her folds, and she pushed his face away and sat up. “Be careful down there!” she admonished, but still quickly shucked her boots, standing up to take off the layers of fabric her breeches entailed. As she bent over to remove the last of it from her legs, Wrathburn thought the display meant she was ready, and returned his tongue between her legs, maw open wide to keep his teeth away from her skin. 

Gasping, she quickly folded over on herself, arms hitting the ground, ass in the air as her dragon lapped at her. She moaned unabashedly at the ground, the sensation like nothing she had ever felt before. The slight acidity of his saliva prickled in her nether regions, but it was overshadowed by his tongue’s warmth and thickness. The dragon echoed the sound with his own growling rumble, his seeking tongue finding the source of his rider’s taste and plunging it in.

She howled at the sudden penetration, the length of his tongue reaching further than she herself could ever reach, and the thickness wider than anything she had ever tried to pleasure herself with. His thick saliva made the movements smooth and sloppy as he tasted every inch of her. It was too much, too fast, and she reached under herself, barely sketching her fingers over her nub before she was screaming with her completion.

Panting, her mind a whirl, she almost didn’t notice when Wrathburn’s tongue retreated, but she definitely didn’t miss it when his half-ton body covered hers, his crooning deeper than it has ever been. His head and neck sinuously slid themselves against her, as his pincers came up to grasp at her shoulders. Wincing at the pinch, she patted him on his pincer a few times, a signal he learned meant to ease up or let go. He obligingly released her shoulders, and she took the opportunity to take her discarded clothes and draped the thick layers of leather over her shoulders. _I can’t believe I’m doing this,_ she thought muzzily as his pincers returned to her shoulders, grasping her in place, pulling himself forward until she felt him, white hot and probing against her saliva-slick nethers. 

He pressed forward, searching, and she angled herself to meet him. He felt something give, and instinctively pressed himself into her with a snarl.

The stretch was unbelievable, even more so than his tongue. She shouted a stream of obscenities as he slid into her, her fist beating the ground as she attempted to relax around him. Wrathburn seemed to understand her distress, as he began to rub his head and neck against her again, crooning gently, pulling out of her before he had fully seated himself.

She breathed a harsh sigh, trembling, as he pulled out. He slowly pushed into her again, pulling out when he felt she couldn’t take any more. “Gods damn it, Wrathburn,” she gasped out, the pincers on her shoulders rhythmically tightening as the dragon thrust into her again and again. She leaned her head against his neck, hearing his heart thudding and breath rushing as he panted.

With his gentle thrusting, the sensation slowly changed from painful to filling, the drag of him pulling out exquisite, each push going just a little deeper. Snorting, Wrathburn sensed that she was loosening up and began to pick up the pace, extending his tusks and jamming them into the ground for leverage. She began to thrust back in earnest, one hand reaching out to grab a tusk, matching his pace. She reached for her clit again with her other hand, cheek pressed against the ground as the dragon worked her into a frenzy again.

So lost in sensation, she belatedly realized a moment later that there was now an audible slap as the soft scales of his rump and belly repeatedly smacked into her ass, the widest part of his dick at the base pressing in and out at blinding speed, and she realized with a jolt that she had somehow taken all of him in. With that revelation burning through her, she shouted her completion again, her walls contracting even harder around the dragon cock already stuffing her to the brim.

Wrathburn felt the sudden clench and shudder around his member, her cervix pressing over and over again into the pointed head of his cock, ready to receive him; and give he did, inhaling with a shaking snort and roaring, thrusting coming to a stop as he pressed himself completely into her, his hot seed pulsing into her.

She easily felt him come, the sensation of his seed almost burning, but unable to pull away, still trapped within his powerful pincers. With nearly no space left in her for the seed to go, she felt it seep out past his embedded member, dripping down her thighs hotly in copious amounts.

Suddenly, as sparks still danced in her body and his seed continued to pump into her, he moved a pincer away from her shoulder, taking the clothes that had shielded her from him, and he lifted his head from the ground and snapped his maw around her shoulder, dozens of needle-like teeth embedding themselves into her skin.

She gasped, a tremor rolling through her body. She'd heard of this, but had completely forgotten about it in the heat of the moment: the mating bite. 

He was marking her as his.

"Wrathburn," she husked, the knowledge of what he was doing spurring her hand across her clit again, into a third climax.

The dragon carefully let go of her shoulder, the pinpricks of his teeth slowly oozing blood. He licked across the wounds; she turned her head to look, and somehow the action had caused the wounds to clot and stop bleeding immediately.

_Huh. I'm going to have to tell Fishlegs about that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique welcome. I'm always looking to up my smut game.


End file.
